


acht und neun

by peachtipple



Series: human bazaar [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background mentions of Gavin Reed, Basically I needed a way of having 'human' RK1700 with it not being seen as incest, Blow Jobs, But also more than human, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Historical References, M/M, Mention of Genetic Experimentation and Cloning, Murder Mystery, Porn With Plot, Post-War, This is 1951 and it was going to be far-fetched with androids, Threesome - M/M/M, despite them looking similar, mentions of human experimentation, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachtipple/pseuds/peachtipple
Summary: Hank is a private-detective in post-war Detroit involved in investigating a mysterious chain of linked homicides. After having a run-in with an attractive stranger in a bar, he suddenly finds himself thrown into the midst of a perilous plot involving cunning fugitives, an international group of organised crime and a pair of handsome vigilantes whose appetite for justice isn't the only thing constantly on their mind.





	acht und neun

**Author's Note:**

> Updates either once every two weeks or spontaneously depending on how much time I have to work on this. This is the first installation in its series. Enjoy!

The crunch of broken glass beneath Hank’s boots was the only sound that could be heard as he stepped cautiously in the otherwise empty house. A big, shaggy St. Bernard galloped behind him, smart enough to walk around any harmful shards on the marble floor, head darting in different directions as his big, droopy eyes observed the unfamiliar surroundings. It was late afternoon, and the sun was lazily peeking through the windows- the broken ones which had their thick, velvety curtains torn from their rods. Said drapery was on the floor amidst the rest of the mess that the once grand foyer had become. In the centre of the room, lay a massive yet broken brass chandelier. It was an old-fashioned, once grandiose, centrepiece, with numerous lamps lit by gas and decorated with expensive crystals- now all shattered and worth as much as the dirt in the flower beds lining the illustrious domain.

Hank slid his hands out of his pockets as he crouched down to take a closer look at the wreckage. He could faintly make out traces of dried blood and the chalk outline of where the corpse had been. Glancing at the broken windows and then at the broken chain hanging from the ceiling, he knew that one needn’t be an expert to reconstruct what happened; the perpetrators had broken in through the windows, dropped the chandelier on the house's owner and, according to the autopsy, put a singular bullet through his skull because apparently, getting crushed to death by a heavy, metal gassier wasn’t enough. Taking the half of the chain attached to the light fixture at his feet, he immediately takes note of the clean-cut done through the alloy. Whoever tore the chain holding the decor to ceiling did it with purpose and intent … and a method which Hank couldn’t put his finger on. One had to be close to the chandelier to hack it off the ceiling but there was no possible way how the intruders could have gotten up there with rapid ease. Unless they shot the victim first and then took their sweet time to drop the fixture on him. But in that case, why would they even need to go through that if he was already dead?

The unfortunate soul was Tyler Watkins, a tycoon in the car trading business. His death was just another knot in a series of related murders yet the first of this calibre. The first victim was a man called James Danks. An identified drug dealer- his body was found a few days after he got shot in a dead-end alley dumpster after the trash collectors dropped by to empty it. He had enough bullet holes lodged in him that he practically looked like a flesh colander. A week later, David ‘Dodgy’ Dodds was discovered deceased in the trunk of his own car. He had earned the nickname ‘Dodgy Dave’ a decade earlier when he got arrested for forging banknotes, documents and artworks. Instead of rotting in prison after his arrest, he went to fight in the army during the preceding war and lived to tell the tale only, the freedom he fought for was short lived when somehow he turned up full of stab wounds- twenty-eight to be exact. The same night that Dodds’s body was reported, Kerry Harden’s corpse was unearthed- literally. The loan shark was found buried in a field, a couple of miles out into the countryside behind his quaint house after being missing since the prior week. Cause of death? Strangulation.

And as different as these homicides have been, despite the lack of known connection between the men when they were still alive, there was still a crucial link to tie them all together. Found carved on the bodies were either the numbers ‘8’ or ‘9’. These were done somewhere visible, such as the back of the victim’s hand or on their forehead. They were meant to be seen and to purposely show that the same person or persons were behind all four deaths. An ‘8’ was marked on the first two bodies discovered while a ‘9’ on the latter two.

Hank stood back up, taking a few steps back before reaching into one of the pockets of his long overcoat and pulled out a photograph from the original, untouched crime scene. He placed it in front of him, taking a couple of paces forward to line it exactly at the angle it had been taken. The man stared at the black and white photograph, at the image of Watkins's body and to the crime scene in front of him for a minute before sighing exasperatedly and pocketing the photographed evidence away.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Being a detective had always been Hank’s dream since he was a teen. His fascination with mystery and crime-solving began when he picked up a tattered copy of ‘ _A Study in Scarlet_ ’ in a small, second-hand corner shop and carried on to read the whole collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock novels and short stories as well works from Agatha Christie and R. Austin Freeman. Hank had been working as a high ranking lieutenant in the Detroit Police Department’s homicide sector when the second World War broke out. He had narrowly escaped being drafted for the first one due to him still being a minor for the better part of it and luck. During the second war, he had been offered a position in the army but he declined to keep taking care of his precinct while the majority of the other officers enrolled. After retiring from the force, he kept on working on homicide cases as a private investigator.

Hank can’t say he’s had a bad run but sitting at his usual spot in the bar, on a stool by the counter, with a glass of scotch in his hand he also knew that he had had too many moments where he had just messed up, gave up and into bad habits. It had gotten better to a certain extent, but not good enough to stop him from drinking till the bars closed, leaving him to sway back home intoxicated on most nights.

Bringing the glass up at eye level, he twirled it around and watched the brown liquid inside move around the fragile cup’s sides before sighing and bringing it up to his lips, tipping his head back as he poured the drink down his throat. The cheap whiskey had an austere quality to it, bitter and firm, and left a dry sensation in his mouth.

Hank gestured for the bartender to bring him a refill as he rested his arms on the counter-top, already knowing that it was going to be another one of those nights where he needed to knock back more than just a couple of glasses of scotch.

As he waited for his drink to be handed back to him once more, his nostrils picked up a sickly sweet scent coming closer towards him. Instantly, he recognised it as some type of perfume and judging by the floral notes underlying it, it seemed an expensive brand too. He turned his eyes to survey the room, trying to spot which lost lady wandered into the seedy bar at those late hours. Instead, however, his gaze fell on a male figure standing behind him and lo and behold, it was him who was actually doused in the nectarous aroma. The scent was too strong for it to just have been rubbed off on him by someone else but Hank had no clue why he would deliberately put on a woman’s perfume.

The older man stared at him, his eyes absorbing the tight-fitting slacks hugging his hips and the slightly sheer white button up peeking from beneath a dark, casual blazer. As his gaze fell onto his face, he noticed that the younger male had been staring at him and Hank immediately felt a flush rise to his neck. He had probably seen him eat him up with eyes like the old pervert he was. Hank sat there, looking at him as he waited for a retort from him for gawking at him for way more than it was appropriate.

But the remark never came. Instead, the other male took a step forward and spoke to him with a warm smile on his features.

“Is this seat taken?” he said, gesturing to the empty stool next to Hank. Feeling his throat go dry for a reason other than his choice of drink, he shook his head and the smile on the other’s face grew before gracefully planting himself on the seat, positioning one leg over the other before calling out to the bartender. The bartender drifted toward them, bringing along with him Hank’s drink as well. As the private investigator rooted in his pockets to find a crumpled cash note to pay for his drink, he overheard the new-comer next to him speak once more, “One martini for me, please. Oh, and here’s payment in advance for it. You should also have enough to cover whatever the gentleman’s having as well.” He procured a couple of crisp notes from a fine leather wallet and slid them over to the one manning the bar who in turn nodded before getting to work on fulfilling his order.

The stranger turned back to look at Hank, his smile unfaltering. The older man took this moment to look over the soft, brown curls nested on top of his head and the light moles and freckles sprinkled over his pale skin. The brunet tilted his head slightly to the side, looking expectantly at Hank to say anything at all.

“You um, really didn’t need to do that,” said the detective sheepishly before clearing throat and adding, “Thank you.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” replied the other male, caramel brown eyes fixed solely on Hank, “You look like you need it- a good drink I mean.”

He smiled at the bartender when he came back with his cocktail, thanking him before taking a sip of it and setting it back down. Hank took a swing of his own drink during this exchange, trying to not think too much about what was going on at that moment. After all, in what world did young, attractive Adonises buy drinks for senile, washed-up, alcoholics like him? Okay maybe he wasn’t that decrepit yet but with his drinking habits, he knew that he was on the road leading him to it and his eventual demise orchestrated by no one else's hands but his own.

The dirty, old man inside of him gave him a very valid reason to why the stranger was acting so nice and inviting to him but he quickly pushed that thought away. If it was a hook-up that he wanted, someone with his looks would have easily managed to lure someone with a lot more coin to his name at some fancy art exhibition or high-class party instead of a drinking joint for low life. Although the concept of men taking other men to bed was heavily shunned, it was common knowledge that people did it anyway- especially rich, wealthy men with nothing better to do than shower young boys with cash in exchange for the fulfilment of their salacious desires. Besides, you couldn’t exactly knock up someone with a dick between their legs so there’s that reason as well.

Personally, Hank had always been indifferent to where his attraction laid. Men or women, he experienced both- but mainly the latter due to the risk of getting chucked into jail for engaging in sexual activities with a man. But there were a few instances where he managed to safely savour the pleasure of being with someone of his own sex and although he found women appealing as well, these moments asserted him that he indeed had a preference.

“So, what’s your name?”

Hank’s attention got yanked back to the current situation by the sound of the other’s voice and he took another gulp from his drink before replying.

“Hank,” he said as casually as he could muster.

“Hank,” the other male echoed, his name rolling off his tongue like a good sip of rich bourbon, “I like it.” His eyes drop to Hank’s almost empty cup and he brings out a couple of more dollar-notes.

“Let me get you a refill on that,” he said as he signalled for the barman once more.

“Ah, you really don’t have to,” Hank managed to articulate but no soon had the words left his mouth, he felt a hand rest on his thigh.

“I insist,” stated the brunet, his tone of voice dropping to a softer tone as he let his fingers trail gingerly up and down Hank’s leg. The latter swallowed heavily, only mustering enough brain-power for a small nod before the younger male is grinning again at him. He pulls his hand away, only to lean forward further and stroke a strand of stray hair back behind his ear that had managed to break free from Hank’s messy ponytail.

“Mmm, I like your hair. Do you always have it tied up like this or do you usually let it down?”

“Mostly up, gets in the way,” replied Hank, slightly gruff with a red tint creeping onto his cheeks.

As he looked over to his side, he saw the replenished drink and with one swift motion, he chugged it down. He couldn’t start to fathom why the other had taken such an interest in him but he wasn’t about to complain. He was actually enjoying this despite literally having no clue to why it was happening. For a detective, he had been finding himself in way too many situations without answers in the past few days- ironically enough.

Hank notices that the other hadn’t touched his martini again since his initial tasting of it and, having no other idea on how to keep the conversation flowing, decided to ask about it.

“Not drinking that? Not up to your tastes?” he said, gesturing at it with a nod towards it. This earned him a small chuckle from the other who simply replied with a confirmation to Hank’s previous thoughts.

“I’m not that thirsty. In fact, this place if rather stuffy and I'd like to go out for a breath of fresh air. Would you perhaps... like to join me?”

And who was Hank to decline?

* * *

 

Hank's first sexual experience with a man was when he had just turned eighteen. The evening following his discreet birthday celebrations with his family, he went out with his friends- smuggling out with him a bottle of wine. His father was a winemaker so they had plenty to spare and wouldn't notice if one went missing. That night, Hank and his party of three drank the wine and any other alcoholic beverage they managed to nick from their households. Hank forgot how it happened really, but one moment he's cracking jokes and popping beer bottle caps and in the next, he's making out with one of his older male peers behind a tree. They got each other off that night and the morning after, he was picked to go fight on the fronts and never came back home again. Hank's family had sent his other brother to war and when he came back home after the fighting ceased, he was unable to see the light of day ever again.

And now, thirty-five years later, he was the one in the same discreet situation in a shaded area at night only this time around, he wasn’t the one getting pinned up against a surface and rutted on like an animal in heat.

Hank still hadn’t asked for the stranger’s name however, that was the last thing on his mind in his current position with his hands fisted in his hair and tongue rammed down his throat. The older man hungrily kissed the brunet, having been so long since he had this opportunity as the other held him firmly by the edges of his coat. Their bodies were pressed up against one another, messily grinding into each other as they carried on with their heated make-out session. Hank felt himself growing hard and the younger male must’ve noticed it too as he pressed a thigh between his legs, rubbing it against the other’s growing erection. Breaking their kiss for breath, Hank took that moment to look over at the state the other was in. And what a sight it was, with his dishevelled hair, half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, his parted lips glistening a rosy red in the dim lighting with a trickle of saliva rolling down from one corner.

Hank’s lips kissed the corner of his mouth before peppering kisses down to his jawline and neck. A soft mewl escaped from the attractive stranger’s lips as the older man’s teeth discovered a sweet, sensitive spot near his clavicle. As Hank sucked on that particular section of skin, the other let out a string of barely audible gasps and moans- trying to hold himself back from making too much noise as he shuddered under Hank’s experienced mouth. His arms went around the older man’s waist as the latter’s hands landed on his rear, giving it a quick squeeze. This elicited a louder pleasured noise from the brunet which made a guttural sound catch at the back of Hank’s throat.

Looking back, he knew it was too good to be true but he wouldn’t have expected it to turn out this way.

Hank suddenly felt his legs give away beneath him, remaining in a standing position only because of the other’s surprisingly strong grip around him. As his vision started to blur and grow dark, he opened his mouth to speak only, he was met with the other’s still wet, soft lips against his own for the briefest of moments to shut him up before whispering a succession of words that sent a shiver running down Hank's spine.

“You’ll be okay but, it’s better for me to do it this way.”

Hank tried to speak again but no sound came out. He wanted to break free out of the other’s grasp, protest and shout but he felt like a limbless, helpless doll in the man’s vice-like grip.

The last thing he saw before he completely blacked out, was his warm, brown eyes, intently staring into his as they had been doing only half an hour ago when he initially walked into the bar.

And little had Hank known that that was the precise moment that his life as he knew it for the past fifty-three years, was no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Get weird with me on Tumblr/Twitter @peachtipple. ^^


End file.
